


Desperate Things

by kkscatnip (autohaptic)



Series: Bonds That Tie [5]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Dream Sex, Extremely Underage, Jason Todd is Robin, M/M, Masturbation in Shower, Mutual Masturbation, POV Third Person Limited, Size Difference, Sparring, Telepathic Bond, Training, Underage Masturbation, soulbond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-12
Updated: 2013-10-12
Packaged: 2017-12-29 05:43:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1001692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autohaptic/pseuds/kkscatnip
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>[...]<br/>for all the desperate things you made me do<br/>[...]<br/>for all the agony you have put me through</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Desperate Things

The dreams are not unexpected, but Bruce doesn't expect them to be quite so overpowering. Shared dreams between bondmates, especially when they're physically away from one another, aren't necessarily sexual, but given that Bruce's bonded is just entering puberty and full of sexual frustration... well, he'd be a fool if he weren't expecting the dreams to be sexual. 

Bruce isn't asleep for the first one. He's in the middle of a meeting with J'onn about something which becomes suddenly meaningless when Bruce's vision is suddenly not his own, but that of his dream. Pinning Jason down, pressing inside a hot, warm, willing body, the body of his bonded... 

Possibly it says something that J'onn thinks nothing of it when Bruce turns and leaves without a word. His quarters are not too far away, and Bruce's entire body burns with need he'd not thought himself capable of feeling. At least not without some recourse: blocking it out, avoiding it, making it palatable. 

This, he cannot ignore. The bond refuses go into its niche in his mind, and Bruce's hands begin to shake when he lies down and resolutely does not touch himself. 

In the dream, Jason squirms beneath him, swearing with every bit of his slight accent. 

"I shouldn't be doing this," Bruce whispers, in the dream and aloud. The words come out wet and muffled against the sweaty back of Jason's neck, and make him moan and throw himself back, but Bruce's hands cover his, and his movements are restrained, if partially. 

"Jason," Bruce says, almost begging despite being unsure of his desires. The word comes out against Jason's neck, again, and he can taste his boy--no, not his, not--except Jason _is_ Bruce's, heart and soul. Bruce can feel it all through him, how the bond _craves_ this. The dream, the interaction, the feelings.

He wants to bite Jason, claim him like an animal. Leave his scent. Jason wants it, too, his desire like a heartbeat behind Bruce's testicles, pressing his hips ever forward until he's seated fully inside of Jason and biting down without consciously making a decision to do so. 

Out loud, he groans softly, rolling onto his side and then pressing the heel of his hand below his belt and just above where his jock begins. He's shaking, and shaking Jason, teeth sinking in deeper, reaching for Jason's cock. The barest touch, Bruce's fingertips, sets Jason off; below Bruce, Jason moans and shudders, clenches, barely stays on his hands and knees. He's dazed. 

Bruce swears to himself that he's going to stop, that he's going to pull out. Leave his boy be, allow him to recover. Let him be a boy, and not...this.

But then Jason tenses under him, and Bruce groans again and moves without intention, and it's all over. There's no way to stop. 

Jason doesn't want him to, so he mustn't, he cannot; the bond and that pulsing heat and Bruce's own desire continue to drive him until all Bruce can think about is that he's consumed by the fact that Jason is his and no one else's. _His_ alone. And the feel of him, so lithe and young and strong, and soon he'll be Robin, soon he'll fight by Bruce's side, soon--

Soon, Bruce will come, but for the moment, his mind is caught: Jason. Robin. Jason is his, Jason is Robin. 

Bruce is fairly sure he says "Robin" when he comes, but can't be sure. 

Jason wakes from the force of Bruce's orgasm, while Bruce lies on the bed and does not focus on the unpleasantness of the armored jock filled with semen and sweat. Across the bond, Bruce feels the soreness of Jason's testicles, how difficult it is just to move. Training was not easy, and this on top of it--yes, it makes sense that Jason is completely worn out.

An apology across the bond is a poor substitute for good behavior, especially when, still reeling from the dream, Bruce is not sure he's truly sorry for anything beyond making Jason's testicles sore. 

*

The dreams themselves are dangerous, but the intensity is a separate type of danger. Not only can he not block them, but they also take over Bruce's consciousness. He's immensely glad that he won't to be away for more than five days, and not involved in any sort of active combat. The question of which wins between arousal and adrenaline isn't one he wants answered under those circumstances.

Thus, the first thing Bruce plans to do upon returning to the manor is to make sure that Jason's training is progressing well, and then...then he plans to talk to Jason. He must explain in no uncertain terms that Jason is beholden to no one's desires, most especially Bruce's, and that he will be happy to explore their desires at such a time when Jason is better able to handle it psychologically. 

That is and was the scariest thing about the dreams: how utterly devoted to Bruce Jason is. He knows his own emotions are conflicted, so he keeps a tight lock on the bond all the way through the house, until he's standing in front of Jason's yoga mat and there Jason is, doubled over in pain, gasping and whimpering. 

He lets it go, lets everything go, and is flooded with what Jason feels: burning all over his body, and throbbing, like he's been badly used. Also, suddenly aroused. Painfully aroused. 

Is Bruce able to do nothing but cause pain to Jason? He's beginning to doubt that anything else is possible. 

Almost in defiance to that idea, joy swirls through Bruce's mind: Jason's simple joy at seeing Bruce again, smelling him, feeling his presence. But Jason remains doubled over in pain, shaking a little now. 

He raises his head and he's--angry. "You didn't have to do that." His voice is low, harsh, like producing the words is painful. 

From what Bruce feels by way of the bond, it must be. "I didn't realize..." No, that is a lie. He realized it hurt Jason, but not the extent to which it hurt Jason. "I apologize. Is it this bad often?" 

Jason's laugh is just as painful to hear as his voice. It sounds worn thin in a way that it truly should _not_ be. And that grin doesn't belong on the lips of the boy Bruce cannot help but love. "It's like, like wasp stings. Sometimes the wasps are more angry."

The very first night, Bruce had called Zatanna. He was in a rush, and simply asked her if it would harm Jason for the bond to not be consummated. She, being herself, had just said, "Who's Jason?" and upon his explanation, whistled and told him that he knew how to pick them. 

She had also assured him that Jason wouldn't be harmed by a lack of consummation, but that both of them would find it a bit... distracting. He's fairly sure she doesn't consider searing pain a mere distraction.

"That shouldn't happen."

"'Many things shouldn't be'," is the only thing Jason has to say, his voice strained but obviously quoting someone, most likely Alfred, given where he's looking. "We can only deal with what is and isn't, right, Alfie?" 

The set of Alfred's lips suggest that he's having some difficulty repressing a smile, which makes Bruce frown further. This is not right, should not be possible. He's made another mistake; all he can do is attempt to gather more information so as to not inflict further damage in the process of attempting to correct the mistake. "I am going to have to conduct a bit more research," he says, looking at Jason, now. "Excuse me, please." 

"No. No, I won't fucking excuse you," Jason says, and his voice isn't that horrible low grind from earlier, but it's still angry and unhappy and the utter misery coming across the bond is heartbreaking. "You--you abandon me for three nights of those--those goddamn _dreams_." His voice cracks, and Bruce's heart aches. "And then you come back and it's like I'm suddenly being tossed in a roaring fire and all you say is 'I apologize' and that you're going to have to do some research? No, fuck you. Fuck _you_. 

"You might get excused by some shithead with more forgiveness than sense, but me? No. You're not excused." Jason pauses, takes a deep breath, skewers Bruce with his gaze. "Just go; it's not like I can actually _stop_ you." 

The breath that Bruce pulls in is almost a shuddering breath. That it isn't is only by merit of Bruce's self-control. Truly, he has been a fool, been blinded from taking care of Jason by his own barriers, his own needs, not considering... 

Of course the impulse to clamp down on those feelings is there; it's become automatic. But Bruce catches himself, nods once, and goes. It's clear that, for the time being, Jason is better off without Bruce.

And also that Bruce has a phone call to make. 

*

Zatanna answers on the third ring. "Bonds 'r' Us, how can I help you?" 

Bruce doesn't try to suppress a small smile. "Perhaps I wasn't calling about the bond, Zee." 

"Please," Zatanna drawls. "You always forget that I know you. Big man B, he only calls when he needs help with magic-related things, and considering he's had a bond for, oh, a week, I simply cannot imagine what else he might be calling about." 

Mmm. He's reminded both of why he loves her and why he keeps his distance. "Is it possible to be hurt by the bond?" 

"Hurt?" Zatanna asks, but he knows she's saying it as a fill-word while she thinks. "If your bonded's injured, you feel a ghost of the pain. I mean, you can always not pay attention to it. But the hurt is still there." 

"That's the only way?" 'Shouldn't be possible' is beginning to seem more and more like 'nigh impossible', to Bruce.

Zatanna sighs. "Alright, B, spit it out. You _don't_ ask questions idly, ever, so just fess up to whatever you did and I might be able to give you real advice." 

"I hurt him," Bruce says, and is surprised at the roughness in his own voice. "Jason feels pain when I push the bond away." 

On the other end, there's nothing but quiet. It's quiet shock; nothing else really makes Zatanna zip up like that. 

"I have taken to ignoring it at times, and at times the pain is severe enough to cause lingering effects." He shuts his mouth, before he can say more. Before he can give in to further guilt.

"What does 'pushing the bond away' mean?" she asks, slow and careful. She has a theory, clearly. 

"It's a mental exercise. One deposits a feeling or sensation into a mental niche, and then it cannot run rampant through one's mind or senses." 

"It shouldn't be possible to do that to the extent that your bonded feels actual pain. Irritation, maybe, but pain? I've never heard of it happening before," is what Zatanna's word says, but her tone says, _People aren't supposed to push away their bonded, Bruce_. 

He's learning that now. "I suppose I'm glad to add to your knowledge base so far as what is possible between two who are bonded." 

Zatanna snorts. "It's still improbable as hell. More proof that the Batman is capable of breaking _all_ the rules." 

Bruce doesn't sigh. He just purses his lips and looks down at his hands. In his mind, Jason is down the hall in his room, nervous but aroused. Bruce needs to end this conversation soon, if Jason's feelings are as imminent as Bruce guesses they are. "It hurts him, Zee." 

"Then stop doing it," she says, simply.

The spike of arousal in Bruce's mind has him biting his lip to keep quiet. "What if that is an untenable solution?" 

"Then you're just going to have to deal with _hurting your bonded_ every time you decide that your needs are more important than his, I guess." 

It hurts, when she puts it that way. Bruce stops himself from shielding the feeling, but knows the arousal coursing through him is stronger. Hopefully Jason won't notice the small hurt. "Thank you, Zee."

"Oh yeah, Bats. Call me any time you need reminding not to be a complete assho--" 

Bruce hangs up, puts his elbows on his desk, and his face in his hands. Jason's--in the shower; water and wetness and the feeling of fitting, being complete.

A whimper and Bruce feels like he's the one doing it, like he's in Jason's body, and reaching back desperately to push one finger inside himself. 

But Bruce is also himself, in possession of his own mind and desires. He wants to taste Jason's fresh sweat, bite him like in the dream, to be the one pulling all of these responses out of Jason, that moan and that roll of his hips, that growing need that will be Jason's orgasm. Things seem to happen in slow motion, though Bruce knows reality speeds along at the normal pace, Jason's hands quick and clever on his own genitals.

He can't stop himself from groaning softly at Jason's orgasm, pressing the heel of his hand against his mouth to muffle it. Jason feels good, languid and loose, and Bruce loves that feeling. Loves Jason even if he shouldn't be--shouldn't be exposing him to this confirmation. 

Instead of letting Jason feel that, he pushes all of the love and languidness that he can across the bond. 

It's easier than it should be, but leaves Bruce feeling off-balance. 

*

Jason's clearly tuned out to the world when Bruce arrives to inform him of plans, all bubbly happiness, almost humming aloud with it. Definitely humming in Bruce's mind when he begins laughing.

Bruce clears his throat, and Jason swallows some of the toothpaste. It's a moment for him to recover, after which he walks over and looks up at Bruce with an expression that says Bruce is doing something that Jason didn't think possible. 

The moment their gazes connect, Jason goes from curious to aroused so quickly it steals the breath from Bruce's lungs. The dryness in his mouth is--Jason's. That's the dryness in Jason's mouth. 

Bruce takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, focusing himself. He's here to tell Jason what he learned. Not indulge his own... desires.

"Yeah?" Jason asks, like he's realized that Bruce is having difficulty making himself say the things he needs to share.

"According to an expert--" possibly the only expert extant "--I shouldn't have the ability to make myself not feel the bond." 

Jason's expression says that Bruce is stating the obvious. "And?" 

Bruce doesn't let his lips quirk, though they want to. The boy is ever-perceptive. "And she is fairly sure that the wasps are a result of me forcing my mind to cut itself off from the bond. It is similar to the pain one might feel upon one's bonded becoming severely injured or dying." 

The deep breath Jason takes says that the state of his erection is clear and present in his mind. "So you're going to quit making me feel like you're dead?" 

This time Bruce cannot stop the quirk entirely. "It is too dangerous." Far, far too dangerous, despite the short-term benefits inherent in not having his mind intimately connected to someone else's.

Jason's breaths have gone shallow, and the arousal is like a blanket over his senses. It's like nothing Bruce has let himself feel before, and he clamps down hard on his reactions, especially when Jason says, "I want to touch you." 

Bruce doesn't move, doesn't comment. Barely even breathes. He cannot allow himself to be overcome.

"I want--" Jason's voice cracks a little. "I want to. To taste you, too. I want you to hug me and..." His face has gone bright red, and Bruce is pointedly not looking at the wet spot he can practically feel on Jason's pajama pants. The soft fabric is--not enough. 

And this is the exact type of thing Bruce must be able to resist. 

Jason takes a few deep breaths, brows furrowing as he looks up at Bruce, fear and self-loathing swirling through his mind too.

He must at the very least reassure Jason, even if there is no question about touching Jason. "I won't block the bond anymore," he says as firmly as he can, and then leaves. 

Giving Jason privacy is--difficult. The bond wants Bruce to know that Jason is crying, wants Bruce to take care of the fact that Jason is deeply upset, but the bond doesn't know what is best. Bruce does, and he'll continue to do what is best until such a time either it is no longer the best option or he is unable to. 

He recognizes, more than anything, that he is only human, and the bond is likely to have its way sooner or later.

*

'Basic training', in Bruce and Alfred's terms, means bodyweight training. Lunges, push-ups, crunches, pull-ups, jogging--just enough conditioning to get a body working, to provide the familiarity with exercise and the endurance that Bruce needs in order to truly train the boy.

Jason. In order to truly train Jason. Who is upstairs, enjoying the crepes that Alfred prepared for him this morning in addition to his usual protein-filled entree. Jason probably thinks it's a treat, and Bruce is strangely okay with that. 

It takes roughly twenty minutes for Jason to finish breakfast, chat excitedly with Alfred about Bruce training him (he looks so happy, on the surveillance feed, and feels so happy in Bruce's mind) and then make his way downstairs and change into his workout clothes. 

His smile is wide and uninhibited, just as pure as the happiness flowing through the bond. "I'm ready!" Jason holds his arms wide, then lets them drop to his sides. 

"Five laps," Bruce says, and motions toward the wider end of the cave. 

If not for the fact that he probably wants Bruce to see everything, Bruce is fairly sure that Jason would have commented on the skimpiness of the work-out clothes. Running shorts and a tight tank top don't provide much coverage, but they do let Bruce see Jason's muscles working. 

He leads too much with his right foot; it's clear that it is the stronger leg and that Jason has some mental dependence on it--that shoe is scuffed while the left is still clean. His form is otherwise good, and Bruce closes his eyes for a moment and silently thanks Alfred. 

By the time Jason's finished his laps, Bruce is at the inclined leg press and has the seat and weight adjusted to what he guesses will be suitable for Jason. 

His body's changed so much already from the too-skinny boy full of vitriol who Bruce tied to a chair. He must've put on a good ten pounds or so, probably half of it muscle. It's a staggering amount for just one week, but given how underweight he was--and still is--Bruce doesn't see any need to alter Jason's diet. 

"You rely on your right side too much," Bruce says, simply, stepping back from the machine. "Overreliance on muscles often causes strain; you need to begin to lead with your left foot as often as your right, and do these lifts with your left foot only until you're evened out." 

Jason looks hurt, suddenly, like he did something wrong, and Bruce is reminded that Jason is still a boy, and very stubborn boy who's been injured and abandoned many times at that.

Bruce puts a hand on Jason's shoulder--they both gasp at the contact--and squeezes. "It's normal," he says. "You're right-handed. I was, too. I'm going to train you to be ambidextrous. It may save your life to be able to push off as strongly with your left leg as your right. Do you understand?" 

He licks his lips and nods slowly, and then his eyes angle down and to the side, where Bruce's hand is still on Jason's shoulder. His skin is slightly clammy, warm in the coolness of the cave. 

Jason's lips are very wet.

Bruce pulls away and motions to the machine. "Good. I promise you, I will not instruct you to do anything without reason." 

His lips are still incredibly wet, and all but sitting on the ground, looking down at him, feeling the arousal flowing off of him in waves... no, he is still. Still a boy, seeking and not understanding what he seeks. 

A few practice reps are all it takes for Jason to correct his form; he takes instruction well, and seems to have an innate understanding for the way his body works and the need for proper form. 

Bruce does not think about the ways Jason may have developed that understanding.

* 

For someone without formal instruction, Jason both kicks and throws punches well. He has a right hook that will do serious injury when he is large enough for there to be force behind it, but Bruce explains to Jason that right now, he won't have enough muscle to do real damage. 

Too much muscle too young can interfere with the growing process, so Bruce explains to Jason that he will teach both how to be powerful and how to be fast. How to think faster than your opponent, moves that are distracting and a little about pressure points. 

And two days after Bruce begins training Jason in how to fight like Robin, he attacks Jason. 

Jason's just finishing with the free weights, wiping sweat off his forehead and smiling; in his mind he's beginning to tire but still happy. 

Bruce waits until he's in the empty area, the area meant for wrestling, and drops down to sweep Jason's legs out from under him. Jason almost manages to dodge it, and Bruce says, "Always be alert. Threats can come from anywhere." 

"Even you?" Jason asks, but he's still being too playful for Bruce to properly gauge his skill level. 

Instead of answering, Bruce comes in on Jason's left, where his guard is perpetually weak, and punches him in the ribs, then lower, his abs and his kidneys. Jason's grunt is beautiful and he dances away, but his right hand is already down over his kidneys. 

"Touching it won't make it hurt less," Bruce says, sharp and quick. "Keep moving, keep planning. Don't stop." 

Jason follows _that_ instruction well, if no other. 

*

That day, Bruce takes a shower with Jason after training. Usually he waits until Jason is finished, and if someone were to ask, he wouldn't be able to explain why, but the fact remains that he does. 

Jason fails to protest, predictably, and Bruce uses the showerhead the farthest distance from the one that Jay chose in the middle. He's unashamed of his nudity, as ever, though he can feel the way Jason cannot look away. Jason's arousal spikes, driving through Bruce's senses as well as Jason's. 

Bruce turns the water on--it comes out hot--and Jason takes a step toward him. He stops, then, and retraces the step backward, throat working visibly even as his cock rises. Then he turns and Bruce watches Jason's shoulders rise and fall while he takes deep breaths, while he grabs the soap from the dish and lathers it. 

But he doesn't wash himself, and when Jason brings his hands under the spray, the soap rinses clean. He wraps thumb and forefinger around the base of his cock and bites his lip, leaning forward until his forehead rests against the tiles. 

God, he's beautiful. His muscles aren't much larger--it's too short of a time for them to be--but they are more well-defined, and Bruce can see the training he's instilled in Jason in the way Jason moves, the way he puts his weight on his left foot and how the hand he's using is also his left. 

A deep, shuddering breath isn't what Bruce intends, but it's what happens when he realizes that he's stopped breathing and must continue, lest oxygen deprivation render him unconscious. 

Jason's arousal is approaching a painful point; his muscles are beginning to tremble; Bruce has been staring too long. He was... unprepared for the sight of Jason like this. 

He swallows until he feels as if his voice will be whole before he says, "Your shower is your time, Jason. Don't let my presence interfere." Even without the bond, he'd have to be deaf not to realize that Jason masturbates after training every day. 

A jerky nod is Jason's only response at first, as he lets his breath out slow and reaches with his right hand for the pump-top bottle of lubricant. He's mastered working it one-handed, thumb hooked over the nozzle and palm cupped beneath. 

There's something so right about watching him move like this, not just with the bond, which is humming, wide open to the point that Bruce can almost feel the coolness of the lubricant against Jason's hand. 

No, it's also, also... he's wanted this and feared scarring Jason, but what could be more natural than that which Jason does anyway? Bruce cannot hurt him like this. 

With that thought in mind, Bruce strides over to Jason's shower. Jason's eyes go wide, but Bruce keeps himself arm-length away from Jason (despite the heat rolling off of him, the arousal, how absolutely delicious the swollen skin of Jason's prick looks, and most of all that needy, needy look in Jason's eyes) as he gets two squirts of lubricant in the palm of his own hand before quickly returning to his corner. 

The steam from the cold air and both showerheads running hot makes it harder to see, but what the steam obscures, Bruce can feel through the bond: Jason stuttering in breaths, the way his heartbeat skips and speeds, the fine tremors in his muscles at Bruce's scent.

Bruce does not speak to Jason, doesn't look him in the eye, as he wraps his own fist around his erection. It is much larger than Jason's, though not excessive. Proportional, Bruce has always thought, though Dick called it--

Jason moans low, and Bruce can both see and feel the shudder that goes through him. It goes through Bruce, as well, making him tense up, making his hand tighten and drawing a groan that Bruce suppresses into a hum. 

"Bruce," Jason says, putting the same emphasis and inflection on Bruce's name that he does on things like fuck and Christ. 

Hearing his name said like that draws a small moan out of Bruce before he can stop it, and a spike of arousal hits right behind his testicles. 

The way Jason echoes Bruce's moan says that he feels it, too. He's looking right at Bruce, eyes wide and roaming, only when they meet one another's eyes Jason shudders hard and looks away. Bruce doesn't do the same only because he has control, and because Jason's profile is enchanting. 

His lips are so full, gorgeous, red from being bitten and licked, which Jason does again as he tilts his head back slowly, exposing the long line of his neck. Bruce wants to lick the water running down the stark lines of muscle, wants to follow that water across Jason's chest, down his abdomen. 

Bruce throbs in his hand, eyes fluttering as a wave of desire crashes through his senses. He doesn't know if it's his own or Jason's, and does not care to pause and determine, either. 

Jason raises his head again, mouth open now, sputtering from the spray and then just. Hanging open. Red. Hot. Tongue darting out. Eyes shut and bowing his head a little, now, a low, constant moan rising and cresting and falling like the waves of desire. 

He's going to achieve orgasm soon; Bruce feels the tension building behind Jason's testicles, feels the echo of that tension behind his own. But Bruce isn't--he tightens his grip and speeds up, free hand moving down to cup his testicles and squeeze. Hard and harder, until his knees are weak; Jason collapses down on his knees on the pale, patterned tiles and draws a breath in and in and then comes with a loud groan. 

Bruce feels Jason's cock pressing the semen out, feels it when it lands on Jason's skin.

Barely feels his own orgasm, an afterthought to Jason's pleasure until Jason feels it, until Jason pushes both hands down between his legs, leans over, and screams into the wet tiles, knees spread and slipping open further, like Jason has no control over them. 

Bruce's moan echoes Jason's scream, low to Jason's high, and his head spins. His hand stills. 

The water's already washed everything but the last of the lubricant away. 

Jason still has his arms pressing down painfully against his cock, gasping for air and rocking in minute motions as he shudders through residual pleasure. The urge to touch him is so strong that Bruce is across the room before he knows it; the lack of water on his skin shocks him into his right mind, and Bruce turns around, returns to his showerhead, and proceeds to not focus on Jason and truly wash himself clean, as he normally would after training.

Jason is recovered and doing the same when Bruce leaves the showers.

*

Bruce never intended for it to become a pattern, but every evening when training is over, he follows Jason into the showers. 

Jason does not fail to perform, and Bruce slowly learns to balance his external senses with his internal senses, even as the bond grows deeper and days turn into weeks.

*

Sixteen days after the first unplanned spar, Bruce decides that it's time for a second. Only this time, when he's walking toward the empty mat space between the gymnastics equipment and the free weights, Jason turns, ducks down low, and unties Bruce's sneakers with a quick movement that could be smoother but is perfectly passable. 

Bruce purposefully hadn't changed into shoes without the weakness of shoelaces; he hadn't wanted to give the game away, but clearly he has, somehow, and Bruce is kneeing Jason in the face, too quick for Jason to dodge. 

Jason's just grinning a wide smile, one hand pressed over his eye, all vicious pleasure and background pain over the bond. It's a face that reminds Bruce of what he saw when he first brought Jason home: Robin. Jason as Robin. 

He won't be like Dick. He'll be himself, and it will be exactly what Bruce requires. 

Bruce throws himself into the spar with abandon, not doing as much verbal correcting this time, just letting the moves ebb and flow, letting Jason show Bruce what he has, and staying aware of his untied shoes. 

Jason's breathing hard when he runs and slides between Bruce's legs, grabbing his laces and pulling. It's a good idea, but Bruce is wise to it and steps back--only to slip, because Jason had put a bit of chalk from the bowl next to the uneven bars down. He'd had it in his other hand the entire time. No, his pocket. 

Letting himself fall is the best idea, mostly because Bruce is curious about what Jason will do next, as he's not covered much in the way of grappling yet. Jason kneels, one knee on Bruce's throat, enough pressure to make it difficult for Bruce to breathe. 

"Give," Jason says. 

Bruce brings his legs up, grabs Jason around the neck and under one arm, and flips Jason off of him. Jason yelps at the suddenness, but rolls when he lands and doesn't sustain injury; they're back on their feet within moments. 

Jason's clearly tiring, but he just puts his fists up. No lowered guard, no nothing. One of his hands, all the way up to his elbow, is smeared with the chalk, as well as down the same side of his shirt. He's sweating, and the way he's squinting with his left eye says that the knee earlier is giving him trouble.

If Bruce lets himself pay attention, he can feel the throb. 

If Bruce lets himself truly pay attention, he can already imagine Jason in the costume, the sway of the cape as he begins to move, edging to the side but closer. Not telegraphing very much for someone with little training in how not to. 

Not giving up; not needing Bruce to tell him to keep going this time. _Robin._

Jason goes in low, takes advantage of his size. Bruce takes advantage of his speed, grabs Jason's wrists, and backs him up. Back, and back, and back, until Jason's pressed against the mirror along the wall next to the free weights and Bruce is holding him by his wrists, leaning down until they're face to face. 

Jason's eyes are wide, but he's not afraid; he's eager, ready.

Robin, Bruce thinks again, and kisses him.


End file.
